


downy white

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Confused Emotions, F/M, Fluff, Wingfic, but only kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 15:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: Just as soft as the real thing.





	downy white

**Author's Note:**

> you ever think about how zero just played god with four pigeons

He stares at it.   
  
It's white and fluffy looking, and he's almost too scared to touch it. The thing sprouted from his ribs and he only noticed because he was scrubbing crusty blood off of his side. He almost didn't- but now that most of the flaky red and brown is off of his body it's- it's there, and he can't stop staring at it. The skin it grew from is a little bruised, but that might not be related- they did just get out a fight after all. He makes sure no one else is looking at him and runs his fingers over it.   
  
Just as soft as the real thing.   
  
“Come the fuck on-” Dito's eyes snap up, Zero already on Mikhail looking less than thrilled.   
  
He presses an arm to the side and wanders back to shore before getting dressed.   
  
He takes a deep breath and tries to keep it flat against his skin, which is worse maybe because the fucking thing tickles too.   
  
He should have just pulled it out when he had the chance. 

  
…

  
The next time he has a chance to look at it, they're by a lake.   
  
In the week it took them to find it, he somewhat forgot about it, figuring he must have just hit his head harder than usual or something. Running around with a spear, he got thrown around sometimes. It happened. It's- it's whatever. Until it obviously isn't.   
  
There's a cluster of them now, seven fucking feathers growing out of his ribs.   
  
He dips into the water because maybe the cold will shock his system but no- when he comes up for air they are still very much there, fluffing out from the water.   
  
He runs his fingers over them, at the bases where they sink into his skin, and the bruising is definitely, definitely because he's sprouting feathers like some freak of nature. Dito glances around, and when he's sure no one's attention is on him, he bites his lip as hard as he can and yanks at the topmost one.   
  
It rips a chunk of his skin out, and the water by him starts to pool red. He bites through his lip, but that almost feels like a given. He's pretty sure he just whimpered. Pretty sure because the pain is scalding- like a hot iron.   
  
The feather swirls in the water where it fell out of his hands, and he picks it up slowly, more focused on staying up right then anything else. The quill is covered in blood, and something- pleasantly organic looking hangs off the end. Nerve endings maybe? The root? Without thinking, he sticks it in his mouth.   
  
It's hard to differentiate the blood, but the edge of the quill is sharp and pricks at his cheeks.   
  
Either way, he rolls it between his teeth and stares down at the remaining six.   
  
He's going to pass out if he tries to pull the rest out.   
  
Shit.   
  
Someone's going to notice. God, what if it's Cent- He'd sooner die.   
  
And still. He's going to pass out and drown in a four-foot lake.   
  
At least Zero would get a laugh out of it.

  
…

  
“Are you coming?”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Do you need me to start waving a banner to catch your attention? What the fuck is wrong with you lately?” She has a hand on one hip, looking at the designated fuck alcove and then looking back at him. Dito swallows.   
  
He still has the feather tucked in with the rest of his meager possessions. He's been chewing on the quill-like an idiot. He doesn't have just six anymore either. The last time he counted, he had twenty on one side and four on the other.   
  
“Uh-” He says, again, like an idiot. Dito doesn't know who the fuck he's supposed to tell other than not Cent. Decadus, maybe? Octa's traveled right? He's probably fucked someone who grew feathers before. Would Zero care? “Yeah. Just have stuff on my mind.”   
  
“If you're not in the mood-”   
  
He shrugs.   
  
“I need to show you something.” 'Need to' is a strong way to phrase it. “I mean- if you're not busy or whatever.” She rolls her eyes and rolls her wrist, and oh, she's waiting right- “Not here.”   
  
She sighs and walks off, and he follows her because that's the only thing he's ever really done of his own volition anyway.   
  
“Is it gross? Because I don't get off to rotted shit like you do-” In the middle of what he's sure is going to be a totally not at all annoying rant he unbuttons his blouse and waits for her to turn around. “Seriously it's wei-”   
  
Yeah, he figured it would get her to stop.   
  
He didn't figure it would get her to sit down and put her head in her hands, which is very not normal Zero behavior.   
  
“They uh- showed up a few weeks ago.” He takes a few steps closer to her, just so that she can see better and she doesn't react in any way. “I know their weird but- really making a guy feel self-conscious here Z.”   
  
“Do they hurt?”   
  
Not at all what he thought she was going to ask because one, since when does she care about his well being, and two, why does she sound... what is that? Guilty?   
  
“I pulled one out.” He takes a step even close to her. “That really sucked. And the skin's kind of sore.”   
  
'Touch them.' He almost wants to say. He doesn't know where the weird fucking urge to have her run her fingers through them comes from, but he sure wants it now.   
  
Zero curls and uncurls a fist at her side.   
  
He doesn't know what that's supposed to be.   
  
Maybe he should button his shirt back.   
  
He almost does, just as she reaches up, the flesh hand settling a little higher, lightly. At least he's not that ticklish. She runs her fingers down the bigger cluster, pressing against the bruising first, feeling where the quills stop being quills and start being rib and then he can feel her- pressure on the feathers.   
  
“Soft.” She says, and some warm thing in his chest makes him feel like he's flying.   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Any other bird shit?”   
  
He shakes his head.   
  
“Is this a disciple thing, or am I dying?”   
  
“How the fuck should I know?” She snaps, and he grins because yeah, that's his Z again.   
  
“You fuck most of them.”   
  
“You think I look at you people while I'm trying to get off? Please.”   
  
Her hand is still at his side, still smoothing down- fuck- still smoothing down his feathers. Cause they sure are his.   
  
And it's still, still, still so very weird. 

  
…

  
He dreams of endless blue and warm winds more and more recently.   
  
More and more feathers keep growing out of his bones and its starting to get hard to keep his clothes flat. They grow around his entire rib cage now, his chest and back are covered in them. No real wings which is maybe kind of a bummer, but they're fluffy and keep him warmer than usual. And Z likes touching them.   
  
Well, it's not like she would ever admit that she liked touching them and Dito's pretty sure if he heard the words out loud he might just combust on the spot, but she touches them a lot. And he likes it.   
  
“It's called preening.” She tells him once in the middle off the night. “It's supposed to make birds less aggressive.”   
  
“That sounds like the exact opposite it does for me.”   
  
“Yeah, cause you're not a bird, moron.”   
  
He does watch actual birds sometimes, when he's the one sent to go find food. When he catches a dove and snaps its neck for dinner, he realizes that he and the bird have the same downy feathers. He watches Z through it at Mikhail raw and feels some a twist in his gut he doesn't want to waste time thinking about.   
  
He considers asking any of the other three if the sprouted feathers but then he'd have to deal with the mental image of Decadus covered in white that he Really doesn't want.   
  
On the rare nights when she's not in the mood she ends up sleeping next to him, hands against them, petting them.   
  
“Do you want one?”   
  
“Did you say it hurt?”   
  
“Yeah.” But it's you thankfully goes unsaid. She shrugs, and he picks one just off center. It's a little harder to get a grip on the quill, but he bites his lip again and pulls. His vision goes blurry, and he's pretty glad he's laying down this time.    
  
He takes the opportunity to like it clean again, chew on the tiny clump of what is maybe muscle even before he hands it over.   
  
“You're a disaster.”   
  
But she keeps it. He doesn't notice it at first, but it hangs from her bow. The other three compliment her on it, ruining the sentiment almost instantly, but for those brief few hours, he could almost forget the searing pain in his chest. 

  
…

  
He dreams of the sky so much it feels more like a memory at this point.   
  
All of his older nightmares of waking up in that disgusting plush bed are replaced with endless blue.  
  
The feathers get up to his shoulders, and a few even start to peak on his arms. Taking care of them is easier then he'd thought it would be, but maybe that's because he actually bother to wear a shirt, unlike some other assholes he's forced to spend time with.   
  
When he bathes, he fucks off to some secluded spot and runs them all between his fingers. He's got a few, it takes a while, but it's more attention then he's ever given himself, and Z tells him offhandedly that they're shiny.   
  
He doesn't even notice them fluff up at the compliment until she laughs at him.   
  
His skin hurts sometimes, a dull throbbing that almost feels like the feathers are trying to sink back into where they came from.   
  
“Think you'll get wings?”   
  
“It would be cool, right?” He thinks about picking soldiers up and then dropping them from absurd height, watching and listening to the way their bodies would liquify in their armor.   
  
“I already have one flying idiot, I don't need another one to babysit.”   
  
Maybe by the time, she murders her sisters, he could convince her to change her mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always encouraged and very very very appreciated
> 
> find me on[ tumblr ](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/) and [ twitter](https://twitter.com/licotain)


End file.
